


Kinktober 2020

by Greenie (hidetheteaspoons)



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Almost Caught, Eating out, F/M, Foreplay, Kinktober, Office Sexy Times, Oral Sex, Robin Ellacott's Land Rover, food and foreplay, handjob, sexy games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidetheteaspoons/pseuds/Greenie
Summary: A series of prompts for Kinktober! Chapters will be of varying length (heh) depending on how the mood strikes (also heh). Each chapter will stand alone. Enjoy!
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 17
Kudos: 42





	1. Handjob

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't judge me too hard for this Kinktober intro fic...the muse wants what it wants. Also for the sake of this story, pretend the front seat of the Land Rover is all one bench. I couldn't remember and was too lazy to look it up 😇

“What are you doing?” Strike smiled coyly at Robin as she reached toward the lower half of his body. 

“Mmm, never you mind,” she responded, keeping her eyes straight ahead. 

Her fingers danced at his belt buckle, undoing it with surprising ease. She fumbled slightly with the button and zipper of his trousers, but only for a moment before her hand slid into his boxers and down the front of him. 

He hissed at the sudden feeling at his pelvis. Her hand reached down, down, down, and cupped his tightening balls, massaging and kneading them gently. The skin there was surprisingly soft. Cormoran’s head hit hard against the headrest and he closed his eyes, groaning at the feel of Robin’s cool palm against his hot skin. 

“C’mere, closer to me,” she whispered, glancing back in her rearview mirror, finding the country roads empty for miles. 

“ _Fuck_ , Robin. You’re...driving…” he gritted out as her hand made its way up to his shaft, which was growing more and more rigid. 

She made eye contact briefly, her eyes dark and voice low. “I’m aware. Now, come here so I can touch you.”

With a huff of breath, Cormoran relented and inched closer toward her on the front bench of the Rover.

“Close your eyes,” she directed, as she withdrew his hardened cock and enclosed her hand around him. Her hand moved upward until her thumb reached the very tip. She slid it across, dragging with it a bead of moisture that had formed. She instinctively brought her thumb to her mouth, sucking at the taste of him - tangy and salty. His eyes flickered open when he heard the sounds made by her wet lips.

“Christ,” he muttered, his hand unconsciously gravitating toward his hardened member. He was aching for her now. 

Robin batted his hand away. “No touching,” she snapped playfully.

“Please touch me, Robin. I need you.” he gently grasped her wrist and brought her hand toward him, encouraging her to continue her previous ministrations, to bring him some form of relief.

Robin’s eyes glanced at the road ahead, and then to Strike. He was a sight to behold. His curly hair stuck this way and that from rubbing against the headrest, his trousers were down to his knees, and his eyes were gazing at her, darkened orbs filled with undeniable _want_.

“There’s a bottle in my holdall,” she informed him, gesturing to the bag behind her seat. “Top zipper pocket.” 

He nodded and reached, producing a small bottle of clear liquid. He quirked an eyebrow at her in slight disbelief but asked no further questions. 

“You sure are prepared, Ellacott,” he rasped. 

Robin held out her hand to him and he squeezed a small amount onto her fingertips and returned it to its hiding place. Robin's slick fingers wrapped delicately around his hardened length. She maintained eye contact as she pumped her fist against him, slowly, building up a rhythm, then returned her attention to driving. He moaned and cursed at the friction that she caused, gliding against him, hitting all the right places. It took everything within him not to thrust up into her hand, but to let her do all the work. 

With one hand on the wheel and the other on her boyfriend, she felt powerful and sexy. How many women did she know that could operate a large machine and a Land Rover at the same time? She had reduced him to quivers and moans at only her touch and the thought turned her on immensely.

Robin's pace quickened and her grip tightened ever so slightly, eliciting a growl from deep within Strike’s chest. A string of curses escaped his lips as he felt the beginnings of a familiar, but pleasant tingling sensation at the base of his spine. 

Strike was succumbing quickly under Robin’s touch. His heart beat rapidly beneath his burly chest, the hair on his arms standing on end. He was focused on nothing but her, the feel of her hand against him, skin-on-skin, as she pumped his cock. It was mere moments from her first touch when he lost all control. 

There was a moment when Robin's hands felt like the warm slickness of her cunt and he imagined burying himself within her over, and over, and over, and this broke him. Attempting to give her some bit of a warning, his breath stuttered, but he squeezed just enough air out to manage, “I'm...gonna...come...Robin.”

She hummed in acknowledgment and slowed her pace, gliding up and down his shaft gently. She was ready and waiting. With a final squeeze and stroke, Strike came with a feral grunt, followed by her name, that sent shivers down Robin's spine. He spilled himself into her waiting hand, up and over the fist that still grasped him, and onto his own thighs.

He slumped backwards, needing a moment to recover. He opened his eyes only when Robin gently removed her hand and a rush of cool air hit his softening member. Not taking her eyes off the road, Robin sought her appraisal. “How was that?” She asked, trying and failing to suppress a giggle.

“Surprising...unexpected...and _extremely_ hot,” he praised. “That was the first time, you know,” he added.

She glanced at him briefly. “What, the first time you've gotten a handy in a moving car?”

“Well...yes...but no. It was the first time I've been uh...brought to completion from one though.” With past partners, it was usually only part of foreplay that led to the main act. With Robin, it was different. He didn’t need all of her to feel like a man. Even this little bit of her, the hands of the brave, sexy woman that drove a giant vehicle and turned him on at the same time was all he’d ever needed.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” he responded, a half smile lighting up his face. 

“Shall we get cleaned up, then? There's tissues in the glove box,” she gestured to the space in front of him. 

After he'd cleaned himself, and Robin's hand, and fastened his trousers, he reached for Robin's hand and kissed it. “Thank you for always surprising me, Robin Venetia Ellacott.”


	2. Eating Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin play a dangerous game when mixing Strike's favorite past-times: food and foreplay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. I am trash. I just couldn't help myself. This is unbetaed, so any mistakes are my own!

They had their own secret language around the office. It was a code of sorts - a calling card to each other, in which they shared their deepest desires, without anyone else knowing. Strike and Robin had their ways of turning each other on, without their co-workers overhearing or understanding. It broke the typical rule of separating business and pleasure, but neither of them had suggested stopping, so it became a game of sorts. It was only a matter of time before it became a reality...

It was a rainy, cold Thursday afternoon when Robin initiated the next round of their game. She and Strike were seated at the partners desk, poring over paperwork, case files, and subcontractor notes. Strike was trying to determine which client might be a good pick from the waitlist, while Robin was examining photos Barclay had taken from a care home, in which a particular nurse was rumored to be abusing her patients.

Growing tired of looking at disturbing images of elder abuse, Robin heaved a weary sigh and closed her folder. As she stood up and stretched out her arms, she noticed Strike watching her, his eyes roving over her curvy form, appreciating the small peek of creamy skin that showed when her jumper rode up slightly over her jeans. She finished her cat-like stretch and twisted her upper torso first one way, then the other, eliciting a satisfying pop from somewhere within her lower back. Sighing once more, she walked toward the window behind Strike's desk and heaved it open slightly, relishing the feel of the cool air against her face. She shivered slightly as a chill ran down her spine.

"Oi!" Strike called from behind her, not appreciating the blast of unexpected cold air, but definitely appreciating the view of his partner from behind. His voice was low and teasing, and Robin turned to face him with a grin.

Cormoran Strike had been secretly dating Robin Ellacott for six months, and it had been the best six months of his life. He loved everything that came with being with her - the job, the companionship, and the ease with which they shared their lives. The sneaking around was just a bonus that added a certain element of sexiness to their relationship.

He could tell when she was in one of her moods, in which she was going to start teasing him. It wasn't until she turned away from the open window that he realized that the games were about to begin. 

She smiled coyly at him, never breaking eye contact. It was he who looked away first, glancing at her chest, seeing the reaction her body had had to the brisk breeze that filled the office. Two perfectly pointed peaks had formed beneath the soft blue jumper he loved so much. They tantalized him and he wanted nothing more than to take them in his mouth and feast upon her.

His mouth watered and he felt a tightening in his groin. Christ, how was he already hard? His eyes flickered back to hers and he saw that they’d darkened and her pupils were blown wide. She finally closed the window and returned to her seat, glancing at the open office door as she lowered herself into the office chair.

 _She wants them to hear,_ he thought, smiling to himself. He could hear Pat and Barclay in the main office, reviewing weekly expenses.

Robin stared at him directly and made her move. "Cormoran," she addressed him rather loudly, "Would you like to eat out tonight?"

Would he ever…

"Eat out?" He asked incredulously. "Isn't that what the Americans say?" he teased.

"I suppose," Robin countered with a wink. "Would you rather get a takeaway and we can enjoy it right here, on the desk?" She suggested.

Strike leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "On the desk, the floor, the windowsill, no matter."

She shushed him and pushed him away so as not to raise suspicion from their employees in the next room.

"So, what would you like for takeaway, then?" Robin asked.

"Been a while since I've had a Yorkshire pudding," Strike responded without hesitation.

Robin’s jaw dropped open and her eyes grew wide at his euphemism. Cormoran took delight in her shocked look and stifled a snort of laughter. 

“What would _you_ like to eat?” he asked, curiously, eager to continue their game.

“Oh you know me,” she replied smartly. “I could _always_ go for a Cornish pasty with a side of...Cornish cream tea…”

“Right you are,” he responded, smiling at her wit and clever charm. She was beautiful, sexy, intelligent, and caring, and at this very moment, was turning him on immensely with all her talk of “Cornish food.”

“When should we eat?” he continued.

“How about right after work? Once everyone’s gone,” she added in a low whisper. 

He nodded in understanding. “And uh...how should we eat?”

“Mmm,” Robin hummed. “Hands and mouths only, we’ll forgo the cutlery.”

Cormoran was once again reminded of his straining erection at the thought of only using his hands and mouth on Robin. God, he needed six o’clock to come quickly. He glanced down at the clock on his phone; only thirty minutes to go. 

Time crawled by and before Strike realized, it was only ten minutes before the agency closed for the evening. Sam Barclay, one of the three subcontractors and Strike’s good friend, sauntered through the open office door, knocking lightly. 

Both Robin and Strike looked up and greeted him, assuming he was leaving. “You off, then?” Strike asked.

“Nah mate, Ah heard ye talkin’ earlier abit gettin’ something’ tae eat, jist wondered if Ah micht join ye? Th’ wife an’ bairn ur aff at ‘er sister’s hoose fur th’ weekend an Ah tho-” 

“No!” Robin and Strike said at once, a slight note of panic in their voices. For a moment, Barclay was taken aback by their sudden response. 

“I mean er--” Strike floundered before the moment was saved by Robin. 

“You know what, Sam? We’re doing a partners meeting tonight ahead of tomorrow’s group meeting and we could really use the time to get caught up on our current cases. Maybe we can all go for a pint tomorrow evening?”

Sam nodded in agreement and bade them goodnight. The detectives simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief when the main door clicked closed behind Barclay. A few moments later, Pat also bade them goodbye and Cormoran locked the door behind her. Upon reentering their office, Robin leaned back in her seat and released a puff of air. “Well that was close,” she commented, a fit of giggles threatening to escape her. 

“I’ll say,” Strike agreed. “Now, where were we?” He reached for her hand and pulled her up to stand. He pulled her close and embraced her, her body was flush with his and she could feel just how hard he was. 

Robin pulled back to look at him cheekily, “All this time?” she cried, trying not to laugh. 

“Yes, woman, bloody hell. You know I love it when you talk foodie to me.”

She hungrily pulled him in for a kiss. Their mouths met, her tongue first caressing his lips gently, then all at once. Strike responded in kind, reaching around her waist to grab at her arse. The opposite hand disappeared into her hair, his fingers weaving through the rose gold strands and tugging gently in the way he knew she liked. He hummed into her mouth, feeling himself growing harder beneath her ministrations. “I-was-promised-Yorkshire-pudding,” he mumbled, punctuating each word with a kiss. Robin smiled against his lips and smacked him lightly on the arse. 

“You really want that now?” she asked in disbelief. They’d never brought their extracurricular activities into the office before.

“Yes, Ellacott. Right here, right now. Now, on the desk with you.” 

Oddly enough, Cormoran’s half of the partners desk was much less cluttered than her own, so she leaned her back against it and began undoing her jeans in an effort to remove them.

“And you’ve locked the door?” 

“Yes, I have,” he reassured her. 

“Good. The office door as well?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, assisting her with shucking her jeans. She wore only a small black thong that left little to the imagination. “Fuck me,” Strike hissed, taking her in. She smiled and sweetly requested, “Mouth, please?” 

“Best idea I’ve heard all day,” Strike growled. He removed his prosthesis and sank to the floor, his mouth meeting her wet heat. He groaned in satisfaction at the taste of her. If he could only eat one thing for the rest of his life, it would, without a doubt, be Robin Venetia Ellacott. She sighed beneath his tongue and felt as if she could melt into the wood beneath her back. 

Suddenly, the detectives heard a loud _bang,_ and Strike pulled back in surprise. Robin sat up, turning her ear toward the doorway. 

Holding a finger to her lips at Strike, she called out, “Hello?”

“Just me, Robin!” called Pat’s crackling, hoarse voice through the door. “Got all the way to the tube station and realized I’d forgotten my phone! Is Cormoran in there?”

Robin’s eyes grew wide as she made eye contact with her partner. “Not now, Pat. He’s just gone to get the takeaway. Left me to review some evidence.”

“Alright then, see you tomorrow!” she called. 

“Night, Pat!” Robin responded.

Upon a second click of the door, both Robin and Strike let out a sigh of relief. “Now _that_ was close,” Strike husked. 

“Now, where were we?” Robin asked coyly, reaching for Strike’s curly brown hair to bring him back down to her.

“I believe I was...right here, but…”

“But?” she questioned. “Are you sure you want to stay here, we can go upst--?”

“Cormoran Strike, you’ve started your meal and you are going to finish it!”

“Yes ma’am,” he affirmed, before lowering his face to her slick folds once again. He wasted no time, sliding two fingers into her heat, his tongue at her clit. His tongue flicked against the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing her thighs to quiver around his ears. Cormoran lapped against her, pressing his tongue deeper to create the friction she so greedily sought. His hand moved against her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. 

“Oh, Cormoran,” she cried, as his tongue danced against her. She was so close - he could feel her walls tightening against his fingers, now three deep within her. It was so much, all at once. Between the feeling of his tongue caressing her, his fingers coaxing her along, the groans of pleasure he made while feasting upon her, and the new thrill of potentially being discovered, Robin felt nearly ready to explode. 

Cormoran’s stubble ground against her and suddenly, she was there and collapsing around his hands. He buried his face deeper into her cunt, wanting to take in the feel of her essence on his hands, lips, and tongue. He saw her through her orgasm, riding through the aftershocks with her, not removing his mouth from her folds until he heard her sigh with sated happiness. 

“Well, was that worth the wait, then?” He asked, swiping at his mouth so he could kiss her soundly. 

“Mm, I don’t know. Better try again to be sure.” 

“Cheeky!” he exclaimed but kissed her again anyway. 

“Now, I do believe you’re owed some Cornish cream...tea was it?”

“I think I’ll take my tea upstairs, thank you very much,” she replied, wriggling first into her thong, then her jeans. 

“Alright then, upstairs you get,” he affirmed, swatting her arse playfully. 

“Maybe afterward we can order some real food, not just metaphorical food?” she suggested, hopefully.

“Excellent idea,” he responded with a wink and a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr @hidetheteaspoons or @thegreendress!


End file.
